One of the best things and the absolute worst things about outdoor venues, like the one we were at on the 4th, are balloons. I absolutely HATE when balloons wander off or get left on the ground after water balloon fights. I also tend to cut up the rings which sometimes hold bottled drinks in a group. However, there is a sort of a joy watching one escape into the sky. They seem so free and uncaring. (yeah, two sides…it happens!)
Yesterday, during the boy’s band (NOT Harold Hill’s Boy Band…the one Jon was in didn’t have 76 trombones!) concert, a little tripped. She tumbled over an exposed tree stump and fell flat. Her knees and hands and legs and arms were covered in dust. I didn’t see a mom near (she was near, but I was closer) and I scooped her up to see if she was ok. She was yelling. Tears made more of a mess on her dirty face and having a total stranger rescue her didn’t see that big of a deal. Her mom folded her close and the crying didn’t stop. After a tiny bit of deciphering her words and hiccups, we learned her balloon had escaped. She didn’t want a NEW one, she wanted THAT one. The green orb gleaming in the sunshine, trailing a red ribbon, and perched a million miles away in a tree. (NOTE: it escaped while the band was playing songs from Star Trek…..)
The blessing was in realising how important this plastic helium filled toy was to a tiny. It was more important than falling flat in the dirt, more important than a stranger, more important than cuddles from mom. Something simple and, to an adult, fairly meaningless, but it was hers and she loved it. Awesome reminder.